A Call To Arms

The First Detention

When Ginny got down to the Great Hall, she marched along the Gryffindor table, hunting for a space, only to be caught by Neville, who
looked very agitated and seemed to be waiting for her. She gave a little groan
and sat down beside him.

“Do you
really have detention tonight?” he demanded, still clinging to her wrist.

“Yes,”
Ginny answered testily, pulling her hand back.

“Ginny,” he
moaned. “What did you do that for?

“What?” she asked sharply. “I’m not
allowed to have a problem with the ridiculous things they’re forcing us to
read? I thought you wanted us collecting information. This seems like a pretty
good way.”

“We don’t
know what they’ll do to you,” he said.

“Only one way to find out,” Ginny told
him. Neville looked downcast, and she reached out to touch his arm. “Look,
they’ll probably just try to scare me out of causing more trouble in class.
They won’t do anything drastic.”

“Says you,”
Neville mumbled.

Ginny shook her head. “For once, I’m
really glad I’m pureblood, Neville. And you should be, too. You-Know-Who won’t
want to murder the people he thinks he can win over, will he?”

Neville
wrinkled his nose at the word “murder,” but sighed. “I guess not.”

Ginny
smiled. “I’ll see you back in the common room tonight and give you an update on
what they’re up to.”

“That
reminds me,” he said suddenly. “Did you get the Daily Prophet this morning?”

“Yeh—no,”
Ginny said, with sudden realization. “No, I didn’t.”

“Nor did
anybody else,” said Neville. “I asked about ten different people.”

Ginny frowned and looked up at the
staff table, where Alecto Carrow was watching the hall with beady eyes. “Do you
think they’re stopping news?”

“Well, I know they’re opening letters
and packages,” said Neville. “Gran sent me a jumper I left behind, and the
whole thing was nearly destroyed. And
the note had definitely been read.”

“Yes, but
stopping the newspaper?” Ginny asked incredulously.

Neville
shrugged. “Luna already had her Quibbler
taken away on the train, remember?”

Ginny slammed her fork and knife down on the
table, startling Neville. “Really?” she demanded. “Really, this is how it’s going
to be now? This is it? We’re just going to sit by while they open our mail, and
destroy our school, and—and—”

“Ginny,”
Neville said slowly, “We’re going to have to face this if Harry’s left—”

“You’re right—I’m sorry, that’s not
what I meant,” Neville said calmingly, trying to get her to lower her voice.
“But the fact is that he’s not with us right now, and we’ve got to get used to
it.”

Ginny took
a deep breath. “I know,” she said in a low voice, staring down at the tabletop.
“I know.”

But it was in a very foul mood that
Ginny left the Gryffindor table and made the trek down into the dungeons. A
level below the normal Potions classroom, she came across one of the doors
standing open to a room where spare desks and chairs were kept. Deciding that
it was her best shot, Ginny walked into the small dungeon to see both Carrows
waiting for her, identical idiotic, malevolent grins on their faces as they
stood amid a clutter of desks.

She felt a
sudden, irrepressible wave of fear, and narrowed her eyes.

“Weasley,
eh?” asked Amycus, flicking his wand. The door banged shut, but Ginny did not
flinch.

“Where’s yer stinking little gang of
nasties now?” demanded Alecto, walking a slow circle around Ginny. “Think ye
can just say anything ye like in my classroom? Think ye still run this school?
I got news for you, girlie—you, an’ all yer Order of the Phoenix friends are
nothin’. We make the rules now. Dumbledore’s gone, an’ we’re in charge.”

Ginny gave an involuntary shiver of
revulsion at the stink of Alecto’s breath, coupled with her overwhelming fear
at the revelation that the Carrows knew exactly who she and all her family
were—how?

Amycus gave
a harsh laugh. “Not so brave, now, eh?”

And a
bubble of hatred popped inside Ginny’s heart, sparking a flicker of confidence.
“Try me,” she spat.

Amycus reached for Ginny’s pocket, but
she jerked away, closing her fingers tightly around the handle of her wand. Her
heart was pounding; she backed away, watching in fright as both Carrows aimed
their wands at her. There was a long, tense moment of utter silence. Then,
knowing she had no choice, she pulled out her wand and Amycus snatched it away,
tossing it onto a broken desk in the corner.

But before
Ginny could say anything, Amycus slashed his wand through the air. “Crucio!”

Pain like she had never felt ripped
through Ginny’s stomach. She dropped immediately to the floor, biting down
hard. She fought to stay rigid, not to scream, but it was becoming
difficult—and then the pain was gone. She lay curled on the floor, shaking and
sweating, as Amycus stepped over her.

“Ye wanna
be careful,” he wheezed, chuckling down at her. “Fallin’ on the floor like
that, ye could hurt yerself.” Ginny glared back hatefully.

“Crucio,”
Alecto said lightly, and the pain was a million times worse—Ginny thrashed back
involuntarily, banging her knee sharply on a nearby desk and hitting her head
on another. When Alecto lifted the curse this time, Ginny could feel something
warm and wet trickling down her temple. Her knee felt like it had split open,
but she didn’t dare look at it—she was nauseated enough already.

“How’s
that?” asked Alecto, hunching down so that she was right beside Ginny’s face.
“Weren’t expectin’ that, eh?”

Alecto’s face twisted in fury, and she
raised her wand again. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, curling into a tighter
ball—she would not scream—

“Amycus!
Alecto!”

The dungeon door banged open,
admitting a figure Ginny had never expected she’d be glad to see, if only for a
split-second. Snape, his black robes billowing around him, was enraged, and
held up what looked to Ginny like a newspaper.

“What,
Snape?” Alecto whined, clearly upset that she had been stopped.

Snape’s black eyes flickered
carelessly over Ginny, who was pulling herself into a sitting position on the
floor. “Never mind her,” he said. “Weasley, get out of here. Now.” Ginny froze, staring between Snape
and the Carrows. Alecto gaped angrily. “Now, Weasley, now!” Snape shouted.

Wincing, Ginny pulled herself up on a
desk. She spotted her wand still lying on the broken table in the corner and
snatched it quickly before limping out of the room. Her mind was racing as she
quickly made her decision; she ducked into a small alcove and strained to
listen to the conversation happening inside the dungeon.

“—What’s this mean? Potter—”

“It means,
Carrow, that Potter may very well be headed here,” Snape growled. Ginny’s heart
leapt.

“How’s
that?” demanded Alecto.

“The Dark
Lord has reason to believe the boy will try to enter Hogwarts, and this…reappearance…indicates that he is
correct.”

“You spoke
to him?” asked Amycus.

There were
several beats of silence. Ginny gulped, listening hard. Did that mean that
Snape had seen Voldemort…in Hogwarts? The thought made her shiver

“We will
return to my office now and prepare for a possible break-in,” said his cold
voice. “Come.”

Ginny crammed herself back into the
shadows and watched as Snape swept out of the dungeon, followed by the Carrows.
She could see the newspaper sticking out of Alecto’s pocket. She quickly
fumbled with her wand and whispered, “Wingardium
Leviosa.”

The newspaper floated out of Alecto’s
pocket and hovered near the stairs leading out of the dungeon. Satisfied that
Snape and the Carrows were gone, Ginny limped forward and seized it, unrolling
it to the front page. Her heart jumped into her throat.

UNDESIRABLE
No. 1 LEADS MINISTRY BREAK-IN; ESCAPES ARREST

Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth,
stifling a burst of nervous laughter. Harry’s picture was emblazoned across the
front page, captioned with Undesirable
No. 1: Harry James Potter. Quickly, she folded the newspaper and stuffed it
in an inner pocket. Gritting her teeth against the pounding pain in her leg and
head, she began the climb up the nine flights of stairs back to Gryffindor
Tower. At long last, she reached the Fat Lady. She looked utterly shocked at
Ginny’s appearance. “What on earth happened—?”

“Billywig!”
Ginny gasped, and the painting swung open. With monumental effort, she dragged
herself through the portrait hole.

“Ginny!”

“Neville,”
she panted as she was stifled in a painful hug. “Shh—ow, ow!”

“Merlin’s
beard, what did they do to you?”

She felt Neville seize her under the
arms and help her into a chair by the fire. She looked around; the common room
was mostly dark. It seemed that with the early curfew, everyone had gone up to
bed.

“Ow!” she
cried, as Neville’s fingers prodded the cut on her forehead.

Ginny pulled out the Daily Prophet and unfurled the headline.
Neville took the paper, dropping into a chair, his jaw hanging open.

“‘Harry Potter, Undesirable Number
One, evaded law enforcement officials today in the Ministry of Magic, aided by
two unknown accomplices posing as Ministry officials. Says Madam Dolores
Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and head of the…Muggle-born…’
oh, bloody hell,” Neville groaned.

“They
escaped,” Ginny said, beaming.

“They
attacked Umbridge,” said Neville, scanning the article.

“Even better,” said Ginny offhandedly.
“And listen—Snape’s been talking to You-Know-Who—I swiped this from him, when
he burst in and ended my detention—but You-Know-Who is scared stiff that
Harry’s going to come here, to
Hogwarts!”

“Why would
he do that?” Neville asked skeptically.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But now
we have news. We have something to go on. If Snape’s scared that Harry’s going
to break into the castle—”

“Then maybe
we should help him break in,” Neville said, catching on.

Ginny nodded, sitting back. “You’ve
got it. We just need to figure out how many of Fred and George’s secret
passages they’ve found, and then find a way to tell Harry which ones he can
still use.” She felt so jittery and alive with excitement that she’d nearly
forgotten about her injured knee—then she moved it and winced.

“Let’s see that,” Neville said, and
Ginny lifted back her robe. A very deep wound was oozing blood down her leg.
She touched it gingerly and winced again.

“How did
you get up here like this?” Neville asked incredulously, kneeling before her.

Ginny shook
her head. Now that she had seen the cut, it had begun to hurt very badly.

“Well, I
can do the one on your forehead, it’s just a small one,” he said, standing up
and drawing his wand. “Will you let me?”

“I trust you.” Ginny closed her eyes
and felt the tip of Neville’s wand touch her hairline. It burned hot for a
moment, and she winced, but a moment later it stopped, and she reached up a
hand and very gingerly touched the spot where the cut had been—it had vanished,
leaving only a slightly tender bump behind. “That’s much better, Neville,
thanks.”

“No problem,” Neville said, looking
relieved as he handed her a handkerchief, and she dabbed at the trickle of blood
on the side of her face. “But this one…it’s serious,” he said, examining her
knee again in the firelight. “I’m going to get McGonagall. What did you do?”

Ginny grabbed his arm. “No—I fell, it
was my own fault. They let me go, and I fell on my way up the stairs. Don’t
bother McGonagall, she’ll just get in more trouble if they think she’s letting
students ignore curfew.”

Neville
looked mistrustful. “You’re not telling me the truth.”

“Neville,
I’m fine, just—just use that spell you did on my forehead, I’m fine,” Ginny
insisted.

“Ginny, Luna taught me that charm to
stop parchment cuts from hurting, not
real wounds. You need the hospital wing, at the least,” he said firmly.

“No,
Neville,” Ginny said. “I’m not going to set the Carrows on McGonagall’s case or Madam Pomfrey’s because of me being
clumsy.”

“You’re not clumsy, you’re lying
again,” he said loudly, standing up. Ginny was startled, and seeing this,
Neville took a deep breath. “Okay, look, you definitely need the hospital wing.
I’ll get you help, and then tomorrow, first thing, you’re telling me what
happened to you.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment. Then
she reached out and touched his hand. “Okay, Neville. Okay,” she said. “Go get
McGonagall.”

“Ginny?” She looked over her shoulder.
Little Evelyn Alistair stood at the foot of the stairs in a violet bathrobe,
wearing a frown. “Are you all right?” Evelyn asked.

Ginny’s
heart felt like it was breaking into a million tiny pieces. She sat forward and
patted Evelyn’s hand. “All the time.”

“Miss
Weasley.”

Ginny turned around to see Professor
McGonagall and Neville climbing through the portrait hole. “Professor,” she
said, trying to smile. “I’m sorry if we bothered you—”

“Off to bed, please, Miss Alistair,”
said Professor McGonagall to Evelyn, who immediately hopped up and scurried
away up the stairs. Professor McGonagall came to face Ginny, frowning. “What
happened, Miss Weasley? Longbottom said you had a detention. It is the first
day of class.”

“Yes, lines,” Ginny said. “I was
coming back, and I guess I wasn’t being careful on the stairs. I slipped,” she
said, pulling back her robes again to reveal her injury.

Professor McGonagall’s frown deepened,
but she quickly recovered herself. “We’ll talk about Professor Carrow and your
detention later,” she said briskly. “For now, can you walk? We’ll take you to
Madam Pomfrey. Longbottom, help her up—that’s it.”

Later that night, as Ginny lay in the
hospital wing with her knee bandaged and healing nicely thanks to Madam
Pomfrey, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the folded-up newspaper. She
picked up her wand and lit it, studying Harry’s face. Two unknown accomplices…that had to be Ron and Hermione, she
thought. She had read the article a dozen times, looking for more clues, but
couldn’t find anything.

Quietly, she ripped out Harry’s picture
and folded it up, tucking it safely in the pocket of her robes, which lay
folded on her bedside table. Then she turned on her side and hoped that
wherever they had escaped to, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were safe.

Just as she started to drift off to
sleep, wondering why on earth Snape could possibly have thought Harry was on
his way to Hogwarts, a memory floated through her mind; an overheard
conversation in Ron’s room the night before Bill’s wedding…a sudden idea
struck.

“The sword,”
she whispered.

“Don’t you see?” Ginny asked. “Snape
was angry because he thought Harry was going to come here next to take the
sword.” She, Luna, and Neville stood together in the courtyard at break, one of
the only times they had to talk to each other. She had just left the hospital
wing that morning and sought out Neville and Luna immediately.

Ginny nodded. “Listen,” she said,
lowering her voice. “Over the summer, Rufus Scrimgeour came to our house to
talk to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.”

“Why?”
Neville asked.

“I still don’t know,” Ginny said,
shaking her head. “But it had something to do
with Dumbledore, and the sword. I definitely heard them talking about it the
night before my brother’s wedding.”

“His will,” said Luna, with sudden
realization. Ginny and Neville stared at her. “The Ministry of Magic must have
been holding his will. They’re allowed to withhold the contents of a witch or
wizard’s will to examine them for a maximum of thirty days if they have reason
to believe that the things being passed along are Dark or dangerous. Daddy did
a piece on it once…”

“Dumbledore
wouldn’t pass along anything like that,” Ginny said indignantly, but Luna shook
her head.

“Of course not, but he wasn’t very
popular with the Ministry at the time he died, was he?” she asked. “And anyway,
they don’t need proof that the things are dangerous, only a belief that they
are. It’s really a brilliant loophole, you see. There’s no penalty if they say
they’re wrong—after they thoroughly
examine everything.”

“So—wait—you’re saying that Scrimgeour
decided to hang onto the stuff Dumbledore left behind, just for the fun of it?”
Neville asked. “What’s that got to do with Harry or the sword of Gryffindor?”

“Well, obviously Professor Dumbledore
left Harry something in his will,” Luna said, waving a hand dismissively. “But
I think he must have tried to give them the sword as well.” She put a hand to
her chin, thinking hard. “I can’t imagine why…”

Ginny, meanwhile, was staring at her.
“One day, Luna, I will make you sit down with Hermione, and you two can just
riddle out the universe together while the rest of us watch.”

Luna wrinkled her nose slightly.
“Don’t be silly, Hermione would hate that,” she said. She reached for Ginny’s
jaw suddenly, preventing further speech. “Now, coming back to you…what are we
going to do about that bruise?” Though Neville had taken care of the wound, a
rather dark, ugly bruise had spread from the spot where Ginny had been cut on
her forehead. She’d had no explanation for Madam Pomfrey, and the matron had
released her, albeit reluctantly.

“Mm,” Ginny mumbled, reaching into her
pocket to produce a small pot labeled ‘Blemish Remover’; she’d fetched it from
her trunk before class.

“Fred and George?” Neville asked with
a chuckle. Ginny grinned as Luna dabbed the blemish paste onto the bruise.
“And—hang on—” he looked accusingly at Ginny, as though she had intentionally
distracted them. “You never told me how you got beaten up in the first place.
You promised you’d tell me this morning.”

“I’ve been
wondering that myself,” Luna said lightly.

Ginny
swallowed. “Well, like I said yesterday…it’s lucky I’m a pure-blood,” she said
with a reluctant laugh.

“I beg your
pardon?” Neville demanded. “What does that mean?”

“Did the
Carrows hurt you?” Luna asked softly.

“I…well, technically, I wasn’t lying,”
Ginny said to Neville. “I did fall, and I hurt my own knee. I fell and cut it
on a desk. And I hit my head, too.”

“Ginny,”
Neville said warningly, and she glared at him.

“Detention
means they use the Cruciatus Curse on you,” she said in a low voice.

Luna’s eyes
widened. “Surely not—”

“Why would I lie about that?” Ginny
snapped suddenly, furious. Then she glanced at Neville, who looked sickened,
and checked herself. “It’s…it’s not as bad as it could be. They’re not…I
dunno…serious about it. They just want to make the point, they’re not
interested in really hurting—”

“We’re lucky you’re all right,” she
said softly to Ginny, who nodded, staring down at her feet. She felt horrible.
In worrying so much about herself, she had somehow forgotten about Neville’s
possible reaction to the news that torture would be the new standard for
punishment.

Luna looked between Ginny and Neville,
who was staring at the cobblestones below his feet. “We’re going to make it,”
she said quietly. “We’re all going to be fine.”

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